


City of Angels

by mspeachykeen2012



Category: VIXX, Wontaek - Fandom
Genre: M/M, wontaek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 12:44:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13434978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mspeachykeen2012/pseuds/mspeachykeen2012
Summary: 'When the city of angels fell, I was busy letting you down...'





	City of Angels

**Author's Note:**

> I'd listen to Miguel's "City of Angels" as that will lend some background that I will not give away.
> 
> Warnings: Triggerish-- this does not have character death in it, however it eludes and speaks to war and loss and fear. Proceed at your own risk.

**City of Angels**

 

               Sweat slipped down the small of his back, the breath panting into his neck creating a prickling sensation. Thrusting one last time, his muscles contracted, the beads of perspiration suddenly trailing straight down to his balls. Coming, his face scrunched as the last of the spasms faded, the condom filling as he collapsed.

               The body beneath him cradled his easily, the mouth that touched his ear warm and easy and inviting.

               But Taekwoon knew he shouldn't.

               So they laid there in a moment of silence, their thundering heart beats echoing in the empty room.

 

 

 

               Coming from the shower, smelling of hotel soap, Taekwoon easily ran the towel over his short, dark hair. His nose breathed in relief, happy to be away from the staunch humidity of the bathroom. His nude body enjoyed the delicious chill of the room.

               That was, until he saw his companion. The man was sitting on the edge of the bed, the one that was riddled with a crumpled comforter and come stained sheets. He had not held back and it brought a sad, unforgiving quirk to his lips.

               "…Seoul has fallen—we don't know where the survivors are."

               Eyes widening on their own, Taekwoon felt his chest seize. Then he darted to the television, the wide screen bigger than his at home. He stood directly in front of it, the pixels becoming blurred.

               "… Everyone is evacuating."

               The news anchors were shaking, one was crying as he swallowed against his fear.

               "We… We can't win against them. But if you're hearing this, we want—"

               The television snapped off.

               Taekwoon felt himself lurch forward, his hands grasping the edge. He didn't realize he was shaking it until his companion stopped him.

               Pushing him away, Taekwoon forced his teeth to stop from shaking. He told the other with a look to not touch, to not speak—don't do anything.

               "I am so sorry, Taekwoon," his lover said anyways, pushing himself back onto the bed and bringing those used sheets to his narrow chest.

               "Its not your fault," he wanted to say. But… instead he simply watched his lover collapse within himself, wretched sobs plaguing his body.

               It was not his fault, Taekwoon thought, even as his feet lead him outside. He was naked, but there were people in the halls who didn't think twice about it. Instead, tumbling from their mouths were questions.

               What was going on in Seoul?

               What was going to happen in Busan?

               Were they next?

               Taekwoon blinked from face to terrified face. Felt the tears start to gather in his throat. Barreling through the hotel door, he found his companion in the same position. Going to his jeans, the ones that had been slid down his thighs so slowly by the front door, he whipped out his cell phone with trembling hands.

               3 new messages.

               "No," he whimpered. His knees didn't feel sturdy enough though he didn’t fall. He just hovered over the screen, wanting to open it.

               Taekwoon wouldn't, instead he dressed and left.

               He had to get to Seoul.

 

 

 

               That was a laughable feat, tired eyes watching from blockaded highway. There were rows and rows and rows of cars. The honking had ceased, they hadn't been able to get anywhere for hours now. The roads north were shut down and the police had their batons ready.

               It was for their own safety.

               The city of Busan was in a panic, talks of war and bombs and—something else. Something else entirely.

               Taekwoon watched as the tanks rolled through, the same police officers that were pushing him back now—suddenly drawing their weapons.

               "There is nothing left. Turn around. There is nothing left. Turn around."

               There were those same tears in his chest, making a simple swallow difficult and he felt the first bean bag shot fly by him. The police were stone faced.

               "This is not a warning. We will use force. There is nothing left. Turn around."

               The voice over the megaphone was so incredibly void of humanity he realized it had to be a recording. No one could tell these people to turn back. Not when their loved ones were still there, in the rubble, in the mayhem—somewhere in Seoul.

 

 

 

               There was a café. Within its unsuspecting walls were people who thought like Taekwoon. Who had a drive so immense, they were willing to die for it.

               They had people in Seoul and they were not going to evacuate South without them.

               His eyes watched, ghoulish and tar colored, their mouths moving as they planned. There was a route, through the thick, dense forest that was not being patrolled. The government did not have enough men to defend it.

               And should anyone be crazy enough to want to return, then that was their own life they were risking. South Korea had laid its liability on the borders of Seoul. There were no more rescue efforts. There were no more searches.

               _We cannot beat them. Turn around._

But there was not an ounce of Taekwoon that could even consider turning around. Not even as he ate stale bread, watching the flickering of the oil lamp light the map. There were six of them and they were heading in. They were going to Seoul to find their lost.

               Taekwoon felt the wetness on his cheeks, didn't register his tears until Boyoung dabbed at his cheeks. Her eyes were just as dead as his, but she was not above caring. They all weren't.

               Which was why they had found each other.

               Taekwoon shouldered his mountain pack, grabbing Boyoung's hand. They both looked at their leader. Insook spoke plainly, wrinkles deepening in the night, in the shadows cast on her weathered face.

               "In my 60 years, I would have never believed this to happen. Now."

               Taekwoon closed his eyes.

               There, he saw Wonshik's face, his smiling, beautiful wonderful face.

               "Now, let us go and find them."

 

 

 

               "You should read that before you aren't able to."

               Boyoung's voice quivered with jealousy, her racking sobs having ended. But she wanted him to have hope. They needed to find someone in the wreckage, this trip could not lead to their failure as a group. Otherwise, discovering her—

               The sky was eternally dark here.

               It was not the Seoul they remembered.

               But that was because the power was gone and there was no one left alive to man the stations. The ships—the ones in the skies, the ones that blotted out the sun—were gone. They had moved on to other parts of the world.

               So why was the day, noon, so incredibly dark?

               There was dust everywhere, powder cement and debris suspended in the air. Taekwoon lifted his hand and could barely make out his five fingers.

               How was he supposed to find Wonshik?

               In this?

               Boyoung suddenly fell to her knees.

               Taekwoon watched her as the others just stared. They all just stared. Because there was no one, no one left alive and although the imminent threat was gone, they were up against a headier opponent:

               Loss.

               "You should probably check your message, Taekwoon-ah," Insook mumbled. She had not cried, she did not cry.

               Instead she looked towards Gangnam—or what was left of it.

               Taekwoon felt his phone in his pocket. Then he closed his eyes.

 

 

 

               **Wonshikkie 21:07**

               These pups are going to be the death of me. _Picture_.

              **Wonshikkie 22:07**

               Ah, it’s an hour later and they're finally asleep.

               **Wonshikkie 23:45**

               Baby, when do you think you'll be home?

 

 

 

               What was hope in a place like this?

               There was nothing but wreckage, nothing but ruins of what once was. His phone having died, Taekwoon simply trusted his gut. This was where it was—where they had lived.

               Happily, fuck they had been _so_ happy.

               Hadn't they?

               Feeling the nerves rattle within his bones, within his cells, Taekwoon took step after step. His sneakers crunched and crushed and he wondered, he feared he was walking on someone.

               The tears were too heavy and the dust in the air adhered to his skin with his perspiration and his cries.

               If they had been so happy, then… then why? Why had he found solace in someone else? Why had he let Wonshik believe he was faithful?

               Why had he wanted _anyone_ else?

               The apartment building was there, it was a mess but it was still standing. Actually, most were. They let him go in by himself.

               It didn’t matter if they died at this point, their loved ones were lost. What was there to live for _now?_

The announcement rang out through the city. The enemy had been defeated. The world had defeated the common enemy—a race they hadn’t even known existed beyond their universe. The enemy had been defeated.

               But still, turn around, they said.

               In Tanzania, in Dublin, in Seoul, there was nothing left. There was nothing left, turn around.

               Taekwoon faced an impassable hallway just a few steps into the dilapidated building. Nothing was getting in. Or getting out.

               With hands bloody from trying, he tried in vain to move the cement boulders. Insook came, then Myungjin and then even Boyoung. They pried him from the pieces of building.

               "It's over," they chanted, each in their own way and their own voice. Even in their own words. Boyoung's was the worst:

               "He's gone."

              

 

 

               Was he so bad of a person that there was relief? That he pictured it being swift and painless? Was he so horrible that he hoped the death—

               Lifeless eyes pulled left, at the slight bark in the distance. Myungjin raised his gun. The other four surrounded Taekwoon's weakened body. He was curled in the fetal position, his hair coated with brown-grey dust as he just hugged himself. They protected him as he experienced what they had all experienced. The other, the one who had found her sister hiding, she was long gone.

               Her name was Jiae and her sister was named Jieun.

               All that remained were the ones whose search had been in vain.

"Stay right… there," Myungjin half-hollered.

               But dogs don't listen, and when the scampering pup came barreling towards them, they all watched helplessly.

              

 

              

               Wonshik heard the cock of a gun, his first thoughts being of the dog that was running towards people—people.

               "Wait!" he yelled back, raising his hands but running. "Don't shoot—its _just_ a dog!"

               His ears listened, for anything—the bark or the gunshot. He didn't hear either.

               Wonshik picked up his pace, pulling back up his mask as he waded through the hazy day. He had grown accustomed to the surroundings, had become adept at seeing through the particles.

               So when he saw the group, about four or five he surmised, he stopped. Then he heard the cries, the familiar whines of his dog. He remembered that sound, the yip of their pup as soon as he got home.

               His feet felt like lead, his eyelashes burdened with debris blinking heavily.

               Taekwoon was home.

               That was the sound, his boyfriend coming through the apartment door with his keys hanging carelessly from his fingers. Bending down, he loved on their pups, their yapping high pitched as they both tried to jump into his arms. They had missed him.

               Shit, Wonshik had missed him.

               There would never be a day where he _didn't_ miss Taekwoon.

               "Wonshik?!"

               There was a yell into the grey and he could hear the dogs, he could hear their incessancy but his feet… they wouldn’t move.

               "Wonshik," Taekwoon cried, wounded like a grieving mother.

               "Yes?" he answered, met with only silence.

 

 

 

               Taekwoon shot up, taking a much needed breath. His chest was burning—lactic acid and fear turning corrosive as he felt the sheets against his skin, felt the air condition along his scalp, sifting through his short black hair.

               Immediately, his eyes found his boyfriend's. They were closed, eyeballs seizing slightly before he shifted and they calmed. He never slept well on his back.

               Taekwoon ran a hand through the other's hair, following it down his neck, squeezing the nape.

               Wonshik smiled.

               "Go to sleep," he mumbled, then moaned, digging his face into his pillow.

               "I love you."

               Wonshik sighed, opening one eye. "Another bad dream?"

 

The End


End file.
